


Don’t Be Afraid to Go On

by letthisroadbemine



Category: Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: F/M, Modern AU, The first chapter is pretty violent so watch out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-01-31 15:20:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12684531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letthisroadbemine/pseuds/letthisroadbemine
Summary: A modern rewrite of the plot of Anastasia the musical.The Romanovs are a political family, assassinated by people they trusted. Now, it seems there was one survivor- Anastasia. However, there’s a few problems- there’s no way for sure to know that she survived, it’s been ten years since the assassination, she hasn’t been seen since, and due to the reward offered by Maria Feodorovna to find her, many people have been impersonating her. But when Dmitry and Vlad, two con artists, come across a young woman named Anya to play the part, they soon come to realize that she may not be playing the part after all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [My beautiful wife Molly](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=My+beautiful+wife+Molly).



> Hi guys. So, before you get into this story, I wanted to talk to you guys a bit about the story. First of all, the story is rated M for swearing and descriptions of graphic violence and disturbing settings. There's a lot of death, especially in this chapter. Just a warning.  
> This chapter is very untypical. It's less of a chapter, more of a prologue. It is very long, and switches frequently between the people it covers. Although I can't guarantee how my writing style will turn out with this fic, I don't plan to do that throughout the fic- just during this crucial chapter. Also, many of the characters you follow in this chapter will, unfortunately, never be featured again. They are only here to set up the beginning of the story. Anyway, that's all I wanted to say. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!

"Tell him to get out while he still can." Maria Feodorovna’s eyes scanned over the words three times before she moved.  
The email was anonymous and untraceable, but most of all, a warning, one of many she'd received, and the first to give any mention of Nicholas.  
Grabbing her phone, she dialed Nicky's number.  
When he did not answer, she slammed the phone down in frustration and opened the door, closing it behind her. Getting into her car, she inserted her keys into the ignition and felt the engine come to life. Reversing out, she quickly turned and headed for Nicky's as fast as she safely could.  
When she arrived, the house was chaos. There were papers everywhere, and both Nicholas and Alexandra looked like they hadn't slept in days.  
Nicky was arguing with one of the political crew, and Alexandra was sitting with the children. Maria walked over to him and waited for him to finish his conversation.  
"I need you to deal with it now," he was saying. "One moment, Mama- but I need it done and as soon as possible, you understand?" he continued. When the man nodded, he turned to his mother. "What is it? Is something wrong? Has something happened?"  
She took his hand and squeezed it. "Nicky, I received an email. It was warning you-"  
"It just a threat, Mother, like all the others. We're in the middle of a political scandal, death threats are not uncommon," he said, brushing her off.  
"Nicholas!" she persisted. "Look at me."  
He did.

"Believe me, I've seen my share of death threats, and I know what they look like! But I've gotten several emails, and none of them are threats. They're warnings."  
Nicholas hesitated, looking back at Alexandra, who was dozing off. Alexei was curled up on Anastasia's lap, and everyone in general looked completely exhausted.  
"Nicky. Get everyone out of here," she insisted.  
He nodded. "Alright. Is there any way you possibly grab the paperwork I sent you last week? If we're leaving, I'll need it," he requested.  
She smiled. "Of course, Nicky, I'll be back soon."

Maria returned to her home and grabbed the paperwork Nicholas had asked for. As she was leaving, a shining object caught her eye. The music box. It was a gift she'd had made for Anastasia, one she'd meant to give to her as a Christmas gift. But with all the chaos, Maria was not sure she would see Anastasia for Christmas. She hesitated then put it into her purse, getting into her car and driving back to Nicky's house.  
She handed the paperwork to him.  
"I can't thank you enough, Mama. We're leaving tomorrow."  
"I'll meet you in Paris," she told him. He got distracted once again in a flustered conversation, so she went to visit the children.

Alexei had moved to his mother's lap. Olga and Maria were asleep on a couch. Tatiana was sketching and Anastasia was reading.  
"Another long plane ride, Nana?" Tatiana asked.  
Maria nodded. "Your father will talk to you about it."  
Tatiana, obviously upset, went to talk to her father. Maria watched her walk over, but when she turned back, she found Anastasia looking at her, eyes suddenly bright.  
"Paris?" she asked.  
Maria nodded, the corners of her mouth drawing into a smile. She took Anastasia's face in her hands and kissed her forehead.  
"Yes, my darling Anastasia, Paris. Just like you've always dreamed. And we'll be together and walk the streets, see the Eiffel Tower. You and me, together in Paris," Maria promised.  
"Together in Paris," Anastasia repeated.  
Maria looked around to ensure no one was watching, then withdrew the music box.  
Anastasia gasped, looking at the glittering jewels that reflected off of it.  
Maria twisted the key underneath twice and pressed the top. As it opened, a soft melody played.  
"Our lullaby. When you play it, think of an old woman who loves you very, very much."  
She took Anastasia's hands and placed the music box in them.  
"You know that I love you, yes?" Maria asked.  
Anastasia nodded. "And I love you, Nana, more than the world."  
"Remember, Anastasia. Paris," Maria said, pulling her into a hug. She placed a kiss on Anastasia's cheek, then went to say goodbye to the other children, placing a kiss on each of their foreheads and leaving them with a whispered promise that she would meet them in Paris.

She hugged Alexandra goodbye, then approached Nicky once more, who was running through paperwork.  
"We leave in the morning, Mama. We'll meet you at the usual hotel," he reported, without looking up.  
"Nicky," she said. He met her eyes, and she pulled him into a tight hug. He wrapped his arms around her and she felt him relax.  
"This will all be over soon, and everything will be back to normal," he assured her, pulling away.  
"Nicholas?" she asked.  
"Yes, Mama?" he sighed.  
"Please, be safe," she begged.  
He gave a small smile and took her hands.  
"I will. I promise."  
Although his promise took some of the weight off of her shoulders, Maria could not help but feeling a sense of dread as she left the home. However, she reminded herself that they would all be safe tomorrow, and returned to her home, preparing for her trip.  
Two hours after she left Nicky's house, she was on the plane to Paris. That feeling of dread had followed her all the way through. As she wondered what else she might have been able to do in the situation, she reassured herself that everything would be fine. She leaned back in her seat and fell asleep. 

...

"Yes, we'll all be going tomorrow," Nicholas said. "Yes, of course, everything is fine. I'll see you then."  
He hung up the phone, then turned to look at his sleeping family.  
The girls were asleep on the floor, and Alexandra was stroking Alexei's hair, who was sleeping in her lap.  
A knock at the door startled him. The children stirred but did not wake. Another knock came, and Nicholas turned to answer it. It was Viktor, his partner in politics.

"I need to speak with you," Viktor said breathlessly. He was trembling and pale, and holding something bulky hidden in a bag.  
"What is it? What's happened?" Nicholas asked, letting him into the room.  
"It's business, Nicky, and urgent."  
"Well then, let's talk about it elsewhere, away from my children," Nicholas said, glancing back at his family.  
Viktor shook his head. "No, we'll do it in here." He pushed a chair towards Alexandra, then motioned for Nicholas to sit. When Nicholas did not move, his jaw clenched.  
"Nicholas. Sit down," he commanded.  
Nicholas did not sit down, but instead took a step towards Viktor.  
"What's this about, Viktor?" he asked.  
Viktor sighed, shaking his head.  
"You always were so stubborn, Nicky. You always were so goddamn stubborn!" he fumed.

He walked over to the door and opened it, letting in two men that Nicholas recognized as Viktor's personal security guards- Peter and David. They carried similar bags to Viktor.  
Nicholas took a step back.  
"Viktor, tell me what's going on?" he demanded.  
Viktor chuckled. He put down the bag and withdrew from it an assault rifle. The men behind him did the same. Nicholas heard Alexandra gasp behind him, and he stepped protectively in front of her and Alexei. Oh god, the children were all here, asleep and unprotected.  
"For God's sake, Viktor, what the hell are you doing?" he shouted. He heard some of them stir behind him.  
"Nicholas, we've decided that you are too much trouble for us," he said, tilting his head. "Yes, you've had your good moments, but this scandal... quite a shame, really. We can't dare stand beside you through this."  
"Viktor, for the love of God, not a word of that scandal is true and you know it!"  
"Nevertheless, you must be gotten rid of," Viktor replied, his voice cold and cruel.  
"You wouldn't kill me, Viktor. You wouldn't! Not in front of my family," Nicholas protested, his voice shaking.  
"Oh, quite the contrary, Nicky. We're going to kill you all."  
"What?" Nicholas asked.  
There was no reply, only open fire. 

Nicholas tried to turn towards Alexandra, but a shot hit his chest. He dropped immediately, the sounds of gunshots and the screams of his family the last thing he would ever hear.  
Alexandra tried to shield Alexei, but both of them were hit. The girls, sedated with drowsiness, didn't stand a chance. The bullets flew for a mere few seconds, but it seemed like ages. When the gunfire stopped, Viktor instructed the men to check everyone's pulses while he cleared the room of the important paperwork.

Peter was dizzy, a ringing in his ears from the deafening noise that had just occurred. He headed to the daughters, pressing on their wrists, waiting to feel a pulse. He shook his head, trying to come back to his senses. His headache was so bad it was nearly blinding. Four daughters. Had he checked that one? He looked down at the girl, lying with the rest of her family, one of her sisters almost on top of her. She must have been shot in the abdomen somewhere- blood was staining her shirt. His headache was worse now. No, he was sure he'd checked her. He'd gotten all of them.  
"They're dead," he announced.  
Viktor looked at him. "You're sure?" he asked.  
Even if they weren't dead now, they'd die in the fire. He nodded, and the three of them left the house.  
Viktor pulled out his phone and sent a message- "The entire family has suffered the same fate as its head."

...

Anastasia woke up to smoke. It wasn't very thick yet, but it left her with the terrible feeling that she was suffocating.  
What had happened? Oh god, what had happened? She had woken up to father's yelling, and then there had been gunfire. She could almost still hear the screaming.  
Something was on top of her, and she shoved it off. As she sat up, she realized that it was Tatiana's corpse, her eyes open and glazed over. Anastasia gasped and turned away, unable to look any longer. Shaking, she got up and looked around. They were all gone. Their bodies were here but they were all gone. Repressing a sob, she grabbed the music box Nana had left her and stumbled out of the room. The smoke was getting thicker now. She pulled her shirt up in front of her nose and tried to stop coughing.

Following the familiar path, she staggered down the hallway as fast as her exhausted feet would take her. The smoke was making her nauseous, but she continued to drag herself down the hall, one foot after another. She was nearly out now, the fire was close but not enough to be dangerous. She heard cracking and looked up. The house was falling apart. A beam of wood came down next to her head. She flung herself on to the ground and out of the way with a shriek. She quickly scrambled back onto her feet and headed towards the door.

”Come on, come on!" she told herself, stepping over pieces of the fallen house. Another piece of ceiling came down in front of her and she shielded her face with her arms.  
She was nearly sobbing with effort now, pushing pieces of wood out of the way. The door was blocked by a giant pile of debris- the only way out was to worm her way through it and pray it didn't come down on top of her.  
Squeezing her way through the opening, she found that she had to push a piece of wood out of the way to move on. Cautiously, she began to shift it. The debris groaned but did not fall. She finally got it out of the way and moved on. The space was so small that she had to crawl. She was coughing so much that she was retching now- tears were pouring down her face. She reached a new hole and pushed through. Another piece of debris blocked her way, and she pushed it. Pieces began to crumble over her, so she pushed faster and began to move forward.

Where the door used to be, there was more debris, so she was forced continued through the web the remains of the house had made. Hoisting herself over part of the wreckage, she was now once again in a smaller area, and once again had to crawl. She was outside now, she could feel the air whistling through the exterior of this maze she was in. Standing, she started to move one last piece out of her way. The whole structure groaned. She continued to push, her heart racing. With one last shove, she was out of the structure.

Dropping the piece of wreckage, she turned around, relieved to be free. But as she caught sight of what she'd exited, her heart stopped. The house was now a looming buildup of dangerous fragments, toppled on top of each other. When she'd moved the last piece, she'd caused a chain reaction- it was all coming down, and it would be coming down on top of her. However, by the time Anastasia realized this, in a terrifying crash, the pile fell.

...

Viktor got into the black car waiting for him outside the house. A young boy, his son, sat in the back seat reading.  
Viktor's phone rang. He picked it up.  
"What is it?" he asked.  
"Who did you tell?" the voice on the other end growled.  
"What are you talking about?" he asked.  
"The word is out! Everyone knows about everything about the fucking assassination- they know the details, they know that someone shot them, they know someone set fire to the house! They're looking for the people who did it!"  
Viktor sat in stunned silence.  
"T-that's not possible," he replied.  
"It is, and it's happened. Who did you tell?"  
"I didn't tell anyone."  
"Bullshit. You're the only way a leak could have gotten through," the voice replied.  
"And what about you?" Viktor asked.  
"You think that this was my fault? You think I'd be stupid enough to let it slip?”

Viktor was silent. "That's what I thought," the voice said.  
"Where are Peter and David?" Viktor asked.  
"Peter is in the hospital. He had an aneurysm. David is being interrogated. You need to come in now, or your life will be a living hell."  
Viktor hung up his phone and tree it to the passenger seat, cursing. Quickly, he pulled away from the curb, heading towards his house.  
"Where are we going?" his son asked.  
"You're going home. I have business to see to," Viktor replied.  
The rest of the ride was silent. When they reached the house, the boy got out of the backseat, a backpack slung over his shoulder.  
"Lock the doors. Don't let anyone in. I'll call you when I'm coming home," Viktor told him.  
"Okay, Dad."  
The boy started to head towards the house, but Viktor gave a yell.  
"Hey. Be safe, Gleb."  
Gleb nodded. "I will."

...

The flames caught Lisa's eye from the road. They were not yet full, but they were there, starting to engulf the house. As an ultimate do-gooder, her conscience forced her to pull over and help out where she could.  
The streets had no parking spaces, so she drove around to the edge of the forest next to the house and ran over.  
When she arrived, there was only one other person there, a woman who stood outside, looking helpless.  
"What happened?" Lisa asked.  
"I don't know, I just got here," the woman murmured, looking entranced by the flames that were quickly spreading.

Lisa shook her head and headed towards the entrance, then quickly changed her mind- the base of the flames was right next to the door, anyone who was there would be dead without a doubt. There had to be a side entrance- she unlocked the gate that shielded the backyard and let herself in. She could see the smoke now, and she heard voices on the other side of the gate, where a crowd must have started to form. She took a few more steps down the path before she heard a series of strange noises that was followed by a crash. She ran to the noise and saw that the house was now falling apart, and a pile of debris had just come crashing down. The other exit and entrance was now blocked. 'Fuck!' she thought.

She turned to go back to the gate but something inside of her prompted her to return to the debris pile. The first thing she noticed was a glittering circular box- a music box? As she looked closer at the debris, she saw what looked like a body underneath, a hand hanging out of the side. She started to dig underneath the debris and quickly recovered a teenage girl, unconscious but still alive. Lisa painstakingly lifted her onto her back and started once again towards the gate, but a pang in her stomach told her to go straight to her car. She turned around and surveyed- the backyard led straight into the forest where she had parked. It was closer anyway, and away from the crowds.

Grunting with the effort, she carried the girl back to her car. Laying her down, Lisa quickly got in and reversed back onto the road. As she drove towards the nearest hospital, she heard her phone ring. She ignored it and continued to drive. The phone call ended, and then the phone rang again. And once more after that. And yet another. Deciding that the call must be an emergency, she pulled over to the side of the road and answered it.  
It was her friend, Beth.

”Lisa, oh my god," Beth sobbed.  
"What is it, Beth, what's going on?" Lisa questioned.  
"Jesus Christ, Lisa, there's been an attack on the Romanovs," Beth replied, her voice quavering.  
"What?" Lisa asked, pulling the phone closer to her ear. "What do you mean?"  
"It must have had something to do with that bankruptcy scandal, I'm not sure! But apparently one of Nicholas' political partners shot him and his entire family, then set fire to their house. And that's not all. All of his ex-partners and extended family have been killed. So far, the only person who is closely related to him that we know is alive is his mother, Maria."

Lisa sat in stunned silence, then turned around to look at the unconscious girl who lay in her back seat.  
"How?" Lisa asked. "All of them?"  
"Yes," Beth confirmed. "I'm not even sure how they managed it. The family's shooting was private but the rest of the assassinations were in public. They must have people everywhere, Lisa."  
Lisa leaned back in her seat, running a hand through her hair.  
"This is insane, Beth."  
"Yeah, it is," Beth replied. "And do you know what's even crazier? They're looking for all remaining survivors and killing them off. There were two people that had initially survived the attacks, but when they were brought to the hospital, they were finished off there. Like I said, they must have people everywhere." Lisa closed her eyes. The girl in the back seat was injured, but it could not be risked to be taken to the hospital.  
"Beth, I need you to call Paul and tell him to get over to the house, now."  
"What? I-"  
"Beth, just do it!" She slammed her phone down and turned her car around.

Nicholas Romanov had been in politics, and in doing so had become well known. This meant that his family was also second-handedly well known, but their faces were not. In fact, Lisa could not remember seeing any pictures of the family. However, she did know that Nicholas Romanov had some daughters, and she had no doubt that in the backseat of his car lay one of them. She also knew that the hospitals were not safe. The people who had made these terrorist actions would surely be looking for this girl. Paul was a hell of a doctor, and he owed her some favors. She also trusted him more than anyone else, except perhaps Beth.

The drive home went by in a blur of panic. She saw Paul standing outside, looking annoyed. However, when she opened the backseat to lift the girl out, his face was quickly overwritten with concern.  
"What the fuck, Lisa?" he asked, looking at her.  
"Help me get her inside, Paul," she panted, putting her hands on her knees.  
Paul lifted the girl out of the car and quickly brought her inside. Beth gaped at the sight.  
"What the hell?" she asked Lisa.  
Paul set the girl down on the couch and quickly started to inspect her.  
Lisa sat down in front and examined the girl's shirt.  
"Oh shit, Paul, that's blood," she breathed.  
"Not hers," Paul replied. "No open wounds anywhere near that area."  
Lisa stood and paced around the room, unable to keep still.  
"Shit!" Lisa cursed. "Shit, shit, shit!"  
"Lisa, would you mind maybe calming down and telling us what the fuck is going on?" Beth exclaimed.  
Lisa took a deep breath.

”Beth, there was a fire. I saw it from the roads and I pulled over to see if I could help. She- she was trapped under debris. I was taking her to the hospital when you called."  
"Oh, shit," Beth murmured. "You don't think she's-"  
"I do," Lisa cut in.  
Beth shook her head in disbelief. Lisa grabbed her arms and looked her straight in the eyes. "Look at her, Beth! Covered with blood that isn't hers! You said there was a shooting first, then the fire... she has to be a Romanov."  
Beth looked at Lisa, then back at the girl.  
"W-well, which one is she?" Beth stammered.  
"I don't know," Lisa said. She stalked over to the computer and looked up the Romanovs.

The word about the attacks had gotten around very quickly- there were several news stories covering the incident. The world was exploding with news.  
But she'd been right. There were no photos of the children. Not anywhere to be found. There was only one of Alexandra, and of course dozens of Nicholas, but not one photo of any of the children. He'd done a good job keeping his personal life private. That is, until today.  
"I can't find any photos of the kids," she called out.  
Turning around, she saw Paul dressing a wound on the girl's head.  
"Fuck, what happened?" she asked.  
"Blunt trauma to the head. She got hit by something really hard," he replied.  
"I found her in a pile of debris. I think part of the house had fallen on her," Lisa said.  
He started to pick the girl up. 

"Whoa, where are you going?" Beth asked him.  
"She's definitely got a concussion, and could have possible brain damage. She needs a CT scan," he said.  
"Paul, we don't have any of her paperwork, and the people that did this will be looking for her!" Lisa protested.  
Paul hesitated, but sighed and shook his head, his jaw clenching. "She could die if I take her, and she could die if I don't take her, Lisa. I have to. I'll sneak her in somehow, I... I'll protect her, I promise."  
He headed for the door, the girl slung over his shoulder.  
"Paul!" Lisa called at him.  
"I'll bring her back safe, I swear!" he replied.

The next few hours were hell. Lisa watched the news diligently, with the terrible feeling that she might see the girl or Paul appear on her television screen. She told Beth everything that had happened in detail. The two spent their time either pacing the floor or tense on the couch, watching, waiting. Time was torture, a bomb that might go off at any time. Scenarios of them being caught flashed through Lisa's head.  
Every car light that passed down their street brought them both to their feet, looking out the windows to see if he had returned. Everything was a state of panic. Until finally, Paul's car pulled into their driveway and he got out, lifting the girl out and carrying her in.

"She'll be fine. There's possible brain damage, but not fatal. I grabbed pain medicine, but the most we can do is wait for her to wake up."  
They lay her in a bed and called it a night. Paul stayed over in case of emergency. For Beth, sleep did not come easily. Hours passed by through tossing and turning, attempting to get comfortable, attempting to fall asleep. Lisa stayed at the girl's bed. When the girl started to stir, Lisa quickly ran to wake the others. When they returned, the girl was awake, staring at them with wide eyes.

"Uh... hi," Beth said, giving a small wave. "Um, I'm Beth, this is Lisa, and that's Paul."  
The girl did not reply.  
"Erm... what's your name?" Beth asked her.  
The girl looked at them.  
"I don't know," she said. She started sobbing. "I don't know anything, I- can't remember anything."  
Beth sat next to her and started murmuring words of comfort. Paul signaled to Lisa to talk outside.  
They got up and walked out.

"Shit... amnesia?" Lisa asked.  
Paul nodded. "I expected there might be."  
"Well, will she get her memory back?"  
He shrugged. "There's a chance she could and a chance she couldn't."  
Lisa shook her head. "Great. What do we do now?"  
Paul's forehead creased. "We need to get her away from here. Far away."  
Lisa sighed, but nodded her agreement. "Where?"  
"I have... someone who could hide her. Shit, we don't even know which one of the daughters she is," he replied.  
"I'll go see if she responds to any of the names," Lisa said, then walked back into the room.  
The girl was still crying, and Beth was running her back to soothe her.  
"Tatiana?" Lisa asked.  
The girl just looked at her.  
"Maria?"  
Again, nothing.  
"Olga?"  
No response.  
"Anastasia?"  
The girl flinched, but looked even more confused.  
"Do you know who any of those people are?" Lisa asked.  
The girl shook her head, looking down at her hands. "For a moment, I thought I might know Anastasia, but I just... can't remember," she said.  
Lisa nodded and exited the room.

"I think she's Anastasia," she said, sitting down at her computer. Once more, she searched for the Romanovs. There were still no pictures of the family. Lisa clicked on one of the articles that covered the assassination, and found that it listed their ages.  
"Age-wise, she could be either Maria or Anastasia. Maria was nineteen, Anastasia was seventeen. But I think she's Anastasia. That's the only one of the names she responded to in there."  
"Well, she can't go by Anastasia anymore, can she?" Paul asked.  
"No, no she can't. What if... what if we gave her a similar name, just enough to, you know, keep it a part of her, but still different enough to not draw suspicion?" she questioned.  
Paul raised an eyebrow. "Okay, what do you suggest?"  
"What about... Anya?" she suggested.  
He shrugged. "I like it. Anya."  
"So where are we sending her, Paul?"  
"A foster program. My sister is involved with it, so I'll call her and see if there's a way to get her in. We need to get her out of here as soon as possible."  
"Okay, Paul. I'll go talk to her and try to get her ready to go."  
Lisa once again returned to the room.

The girl was sitting up, her head resting on her knees.  
"Beth, could I have a moment alone with her?" Lisa asked.  
Beth gave a nod and walked out.  
The girl looked up. "Do you know who I am?" she asked.  
"Well, kind of. Your name is Anya. Y-you got hit in the head and now you have amnesia," Lisa said.  
The girl looked bewildered at this news.  
"My name is Anya?"  
"Yes, Anya," Lisa replied. "We're going to be going somewhere pretty soon, so we have to get ready to go. You can take a shower, and I'll grab some new clothes for you."  
Anya nodded. "Okay. Thank you."  
"Oh, my name is Lisa."  
"Thank you, Lisa."  
Lisa gave Anya a smile and then left the room to grab some clothes. Luckily, Beth was similar to Anya's petite form, and more than willing to give up some clothes to Anya.  
Lisa showed her how the shower works and left her some clothes to change into.

While Anya showered, Lisa packed her a bag full of clothes and living essentials. Paul called his sister, Sara, and found that without any paperwork for the girl, it would be impossible to get her into the foster system. However, Sara was willing to take Anya in until she was able to live on her own.  
As Lisa was putting Anya's bags in her car, a glint in the back seat caught her eye. As she lifted it up, she realized that it was a necklace, covered with diamonds and sapphires. It had to be Anya's. Lisa pocketed it and returned to the house.

Anya was freshly showered and looked much better. Paul was still talking out the details with Sara, so the girls agreed that Anya should get as much sleep as possible before she left. After Anya lay down, Lisa turned on the news, and Beth sat beside her to watch.  
"Due to the fire, we cannot yet confirm the deaths of the Romanov family," the newscaster was saying. "But detectives have confirmed that several human remains have been found in the ruins of the house."  
Lisa glanced at Beth, who swallowed hard.  
"Many other members of the extended Romanov family have been assassinated as well," the newscaster continued. "Viktor Vaganov, Nicholas' political partner and best friend, has also been killed. Maria Feoderovna, the mother of Nicholas Romanov, is confirmed to be alive and protected in Paris, France."

Paul, who had finished with his phone call, came up behind them and turned off the TV.  
"Let's go," he said.  
Lisa and Beth woke Anya up and got her outside, ready to go. Paul would drive her to Sara, then return home. Just before Anya got in the car, Lisa remembered the necklace she'd found.  
"Oh, Anya!" she said.  
Anya turned around and looked at her.  
Lisa placed the necklace in her hands. "I found this. It belongs to you."  
Anya held it up, and it sparkled in the moonlight. "Diamonds?" she asked.  
Lisa nodded. "Don't tell anyone about it unless you completely trust them, okay?"  
"Okay," Anya responded.  
Lisa hesitated, then gave Anya a hug. "You'll be okay. You're stronger than you know," she said, then let go.  
"Alright, let's go," Paul called.  
Anya got into the car and waved at Anya and Lisa.

As Paul pulled away, Lisa felt an ache in her heart for the girl as she started her new life.  
"Goodbye, Anastasia," she whispered.


	2. Chapter 2

** _Ten Years Later_ **

Anya watched the car drive away into the night, the last trace of her old life fading away before her eyes.  
She had always been certain that Sara had known who she really was, but was keeping it from her for some reason. Whenever Anya had pestered her, Sara had always insisted that Anya had amnesia, that all she knew was Anya’s name, that she had no clue who Anya really was.

A part of Anya had always thought that Sara would reveal to her everything she’d always wanted to know. But now Sara was dead, and Anya was left without a clue. She sat down on the couch and let the sobs wrack through her body, hugging a pillow to her chest.  
Sara had never been a parent figure. She’d gotten Anya started, she’d helped her find an apartment, but she had always left Anya to take care of herself. But Anya had always considered Sara the only link to who she used to be, the only answers to her questions. And now she was gone, along with the secrets of Anya’s past.

Anya’s phone buzzed in her hand and she held it up, squinting her puffy eyes at the bright white light. Ella was calling her. She sniffed and took a deep breath, pulling herself together before she answered.  
“Hello?”  
“Anya? Oh my god, I just heard the news! Are you okay?” Ella asked, her voice thick with pity.  
“I’m fine, I’m... It’s just been a long day,” Anya said, standing up and pacing the room.  
“I’m so sorry, honey,” Ella replied.  
“I’ll be okay,” Anya told her.  
“Oh, hey! Guess where I’m calling from!” Ella exclaimed.  
Anya closed her eyes. “Home?” she guessed.  
“C’mon, don’t be a downer. I’m in Paris!”  
“Paris?” Anya asked, shifting the phone closer to her ear. “Really?”  
“Yes, girl, it’s beautiful! You should come visit me!”  
Anya managed a laugh. “In Paris? I don’t know about that.”  
“It’ll be just you and me,” Ella said. “You and me, together in Paris!”

Anya stopped cold, the words hitting her like a wall.  
“Together in Paris,” she echoed.  
“I know it would be hard to get the time off of work, but if by some miracle you make it over, I’d love to have you,” Ella babbled.  
Anya didn’t hear any of it.  
“I have to go,” she announced to Ella.  
“Okay, well, feel better, I’ll call you later,” Ella said.  
Anya hung up the phone and hugged it against her chest.  
“Together in Paris,” she murmured, pacing the floor again. She could swear she had remembered something, but it had faded so quickly that should could not place it.

Anya stalked to her room and went to the bottom drawer of her clothes cabinet, and found what she was looking for hidden among the shirts. The necklace that Lisa had given to her so long ago. She barely remembered anything about that day, but she did remember getting that necklace. It sparkled in the light, and she studied it intensely.  
“Together in Paris,” she said once again, willing the words to trigger her memory again. But nothing happened.  
She sighed and put the necklace around her throat, the cold metal chilling her skin.  
“Together... with who?” she wondered aloud.

For the next few months, those three words haunted Anya’s thoughts. She read books about Paris, she studied photographs of the city, she watched French movies, anything that might help her remember. But nothing came, except the increasing urgency within her instincts to fly to Paris as soon as possible.  
But Paris? Paris was a plane ride away, and plane rides required paperwork which she didn’t have. Obtaining some would be illegal, and she had no idea where to start. She still worked at a bakery that paid her under the table, for a kind yet somewhat unlawful man named Steve.  
Still, she found herself putting aside money for a trip.  
‘There has to be way,’ she told herself constantly.

Then, one day at work, she heard Steve speaking in a low voice to a regular customer, something about paperwork, leaving the country. She hesitated at the door, then turned to confront him.  
“Steve?” she asked.  
“Yes, Anya?” he asked, turning to look at her.  
“Well, I... I heard you talking to someone about paperwork earlier,” she said awkwardly.  
“Yes?” Steve asked, studying her face.  
“What would you say if I needed paperwork?” she asked.  
Steve chuckled, leaning against the counter behind him. “What kind of paperwork?”  
Anya could not meet his eyes. “If I needed to leave the country,” she offered. “Forged documents.”  
Steve straightened up. “It wouldn’t be cheap.”  
“I’ve been saving my money,” she replied.  
Steve stared at her for a moment, then laughed. “Yeah, I know someone. Like I said, not cheap, but he’s the only person I trust.”  
Anya took a step forward.  
“Where can I find him?”

...

“So what’s this so-called information you have?” Dmitry asked, taking a seat on the bench next to the middle aged woman.  
“Trust me, it’s good,” Rosa replied.  
“Well?” Dmitry asked.  
“There was a coverup in the Romanov family deaths. They think one of the children survived,” Rosa revealed.  
Dmitry let the boredom he felt in hearing this cross his face. “And?”  
“That’s not the exciting part,” she said in reply to his expression. “From what they can tell in DNA evidence, it’s one of the daughters- Anastasia. They couldn’t find traces of her remains anywhere. Maria Feodorovna will be offering a vast reward for anyone who finds her granddaughter and brings her to Paris.”  
Dmitry sat up, his eyes glittering. “Reward?”  
The woman smiled. “More than enough for you and Vlad to get out and live a life of luxury for the rest of your days. A fortune.”  
“And you’re sure that all of this is true?” he confirmed.  
“I got it from my usual source. You know it’s accurate,” she replied.  
Dmitry stood, and after making sure no one was watching, paid her.  
“Next week, same time,” he said, then walked the block to the abandoned theater.

After entering, he shut the door and knocked three times on the table. Vlad entered the room, looking as scraggly and sleep-deprived as ever.  
“Well, I hope that exchange went well,” Vlad said.  
“Vlad, how would you like to go back to Paris?” Dmitry asked.  
“Paris? I love Paris! Whatever it is, I’m in!” Vlad said, taking a sip of his coffee.  
“Apparently, one of the Romanovs is alive,” Dmitry reported.  
Vlad choked on his coffee, and had to take a minute before he could breathe. Regaining his composure, he placed his hand on Dmitry’s shoulder.  
“Say that again?” he asked.  
“Anastasia Romanov. They think she survived the attacks. Maria Feodorovna is paying a reward to anyone who finds her and brings her to Paris,” Dmitry answered, then turned away and strode to the laptop they had set up in the backstage area.  
“How much, Dmitry, how much?” Vlad demanded.  
“More than we could possibly ever need,” Dmitry said, frantically typing.  
Vlad collapsed in a chair next to him.  
“Damn, no pictures of her?” Dmitry asked, leaning back in frustration. “She’s a Romanov, how hard can it be to find a picture of her!”  
Vlad patted Dmitry on the shoulder and stood up. “Well, my friend, they were a very private family until the assassination. They didn’t get very famous until after their deaths, I’m afraid.”  
“Well how are we supposed to find a look alike if we can’t find a picture of her?” Dmitry asked.  
Vlad shrugged. “Be creative.”  
Dmitry scoffed, running a hand through his hair.  
“Easier said than done,” he said.

Dmitry’s eyes darted over the images of Nicholas repeatedly, the only result that would come up. He searched everywhere for any pictures of Anastasia, but to no avail. Pictures of her simply did not exist, and he was left staring at the few pictures that contained Nicholas and Alexandra. Suddenly, his brows drew together and his face lit up.  
He printed out a few images, pinned them to the wall and backed up.  
“Vlad,” he called out. “Come look at this!”  
Vlad, who’d been reading on the other side of the room, stood up and studied the pictures.  
“Alexandra?” he asked Dmitry.  
Dmitry nodded, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “Well, she has to look like her mom, right? At least a little. And Nicholas, too.”  
“I suppose...” Vlad speculated. “We don’t have much of an other option, do we?”  
“Look, we can work with this!” Dmitry insisted. “And you used to know the Romanovs, right? Or you’ve at least seen them?”  
Vlad sighed, walking closer to the pictures. “I conned my way into dinner parties with them for six months, yes.”  
Dmitry smirked. “Who found you out?” he asked.  
“Maria Feodorovna,” Vlad said.  
Dmitry gave a stunned laugh. “Really?”  
“Yes.” He pulled one of the pictures of Alexandra from the wall. “And it was not funny at the time.”  
He started to walk onto the stage, and Dmitry followed.  
“Did you ever see Anastasia? Or Alexandra?” Dmitry asked.  
“I caught a glimpse of the children once, but not enough to remotely remember any of their faces. As for Alexandra, I never spoke to her directly, but I saw her several times.” Vlad set the picture down and sat in front of it, staring at it intently.  
“So, Dmitry... where do you say we start?”  
“We need to find a girl- someone who looks similar to Alexandra. We’ll dress her up, take her to see her grandmama, and split part of the reward with her!” Dmitry said.  
Vlad looked up. “And where do you propose we find this girl?”  
Dmitry shrugged. “Auditions?”  
Vlad slowly stood up, groaning. “Then auditions it is.”

...

Auditions were hell. When they found a girl with any resemblance to Alexandra, she could not act to save her life. Half of the girls flirted with Dmitry nonstop, including Paulina, who was insufferable in both acting and flirting.  
“Grandmama! It’s me, Anastasia!” she said, following the script. Dmitry buried his face in his hands.  
“What? You don’t think it’s good?” she asked him.  
“No, my dear girl, it’s beyond belief. Undoubtedly the best we’ve seen all night,” Vlad cut in.  
“Do you want me to read the rest?” she asked.  
“That’s... not necessary!” Dmitry insisted, standing up from the chair he’d been sitting in.  
“We’ll let you know,” Vlad told her, escorting her to her friends.  
“That means no, Paulina,” one of them said.  
Anger distorted her face, and she stomped over to Dmitry and Vlad.  
“What you’re doing is illegal, you know!”  
Vlad raised his eyebrows but did not further react.  
Paulina turned to Dmitry. “If you weren’t so handsome, Dmitry, I’d report you!”  
“Get out of here,” he scoffed, but she did not move, just sat smirking at him. “Out!” he yelled, and she marched out of the room.

“Well. You tried, my friend,” Vlad sighed. “But Anastasia’s don’t grow on trees.”  
“I’m not giving up. We just need one girl to play the part.” Dmitry started pacing the floor, looking at the layout of information about the Romanovs they’d set up on the stage. “Besides, we need more than just a girl to sell this. We need something that actually could have belonged to Anastasia.”  
“And where do you suppose we find that?” Vlad asked.  
“The assassination happened not too far from here. If Anastasia really is alive, she would have needed to survive the fire, right?” Dmitry pointed out.  
Vlad shrugged.  
“Well, if she survived the fire, there’s a chance something that belonged to her could have, too,” Dmitry said, “The fire only reached half of the house before it was put out. The rest just collapsed because of structural damage!”  
“So what are you saying?” Vlad asked.  
“What if someone found something buried in the rubble? Like, a family heirloom? Something she could have taken out with her?”  
“That’s plausible,” Vlad said. “In fact, if I remember correctly, I know someone who might have just what we’re looking for.”  
“What?” Dmitry asked.  
Vlad strolled out of the room, Dmitry following close behind.  
“He was there when the fire happened. He claims that he went behind the house and found a music box, a music box with an A engraved on it,” Vlad explained.  
“I had no need for it at the time, but if we’re lucky he could still have it,” he continued, sitting down at his laptop.  
“Well, how do we get in contact with him?” Dmitry asked.  
“Email.” Vlad said, waking up the computer.  
Dmitry sat next to him as Vlad typed out a request- they were willing to pay a great sum of money for the music box, if the man still had it.  
The reply was almost immediate. He still had the music box, and was more than prepared to sell it.  
“There we are, Dmitry! A little luck,” Vlad said to him.

Vlad went to make the deal and came back with the music box, exactly what the man had promised it would be. Dmitry held it up to the light and it glimmered.  
“Do you think it could pass for hers?” Dmitry asked.  
“It better, for what we paid for it,” Vlad grumbled.  
Dmitry fidgeted with the top, trying to apply pressure.  
“Stop messing with it before you break it!” Vlad protested.  
“I can’t get it open!” Dmitry said, setting it down in frustration.  
“It’s a fake!” Vlad replied.  
“How do you know?” Dmitry asked  
“No one spots a fake like Vladimir Popov, the biggest fake of them all!” Vlad exclaimed.  
Dmitry turned to answer but was cut off by a knock on the door.

“I knew it! Those women ratted on us!” he said, shoving the music box into his bag.  
“At least they’ll feed us in prison!” Vlad said, gathering up their papers. “I haven’t had a real meal in weeks!”  
When the door flew open, they both started as a girl walked in, looking exhausted.  
She looked between the both of them, a look of confusion on her face.  
“I’m looking for Dmitry!” she said.  
“So are the police,” Vlad huffed, leaning against a table.  
Dmitry moved a chair over. “I’m Dmitry,” he said, offering the seat to her. “What do you want?”  
“I need forged documents and I was told you’re the only one who can help me,” she explained, ignoring the chair.  
“Those papers cost money,” he said, moving the chair back to him and taking a seat.  
“I’ve saved some money,” she said.  
“The right papers cost a lot,” he replied.  
“I’m a hard worker, you’ll get your money!” she insisted, kneeling to match his height.  
“What do you do?” he asked.  
“I work at a bakery?” she said.  
“A bakery?” Dmitry asked in disbelief, Vlad chuckling behind him.  
“Before that I washed dishes! And I’ve babysat before!” she added, standing up.  
Dmitry sighed, shaking his head. “What do you need?”  
“Well... I’d need a birth certificate, social security, driver’s license. Everything I’d need to be able to buy plane tickets to Paris!”  
“What? You don’t have any of those?” Dmitry asked.  
She shook her head.

Dmitry stood, staring at her. She stared back at him.  
“So what’s in Paris?” he asked.  
“I don’t know.”  
“You don’t know?” he repeated.  
“All I know is I need to get there,” she said.  
“She’s crazy!” he said to Vlad.  
“I’m not crazy!” she exclaimed. “Why are you so rude?”  
“Forgive him. We were hoping you’d be someone else,” Vlad told her, walking to the light board.  
“Who?” she asked.  
“Someone who may not even exist,” he said, flicking on a light.  
She blinked rapidly as the room was covered with sudden light. Vlad flicked another light on and the stage lit up.  
She stared out at the stage, then started to drift towards it.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Dmitry asked.  
She walked onto the stage as if in a trance and gazed around, looking out at the audience.  
“What the hell?” Dmitry muttered to Vlad. “Look, you can’t just-“  
“I’ve been here before,” she interrupted.  
“What?” Dmitry asked.  
“There was a show... everyone was beautifully dressed,” she said.  
Vlad walked over to her. “This used to be an active theater. The Yusupov’s used to pay for shows to be put on here. Of course, they were all private showings...” he said.  
“Everyone was so nice to me. So welcoming,” she continued. Dmitry noticed she was trembling uncontrollably.  
“She’s going to faint on us!” he said to Vlad, who put a hand behind her back and guided her to a chair.  
“Have you eaten today?” Vlad asked her. When she shook her head, he motioned to Dmitry. “Get her a glass of water. And something to eat!”  
“What are we, a soup kitchen?” Dmitry asked. “We don’t have any food here!”  
Vlad glared at him, and he scoffed and went to get the water.

“You seem like a gentleman,” she said to Vlad. “Even if your friend isn’t.”  
Vlad chuckled, squatting down next to her. “Gentleman? No one’s called me that for years,” he said, giving her a smile. “But... try not to judge Dmitry too harshly. Life has been hard for him.”  
Dmitry returned with a glass of water and handed it to her.  
“Thank you,” she said, taking the glass and taking a sip.  
Vlad stood and walked to Dmitry, gripping his shoulders.  
“Don’t be too quick about this one, Dmitry,” Vlad told him under his breath.  
“Her?” Dmitry asked. “What, are you crazy too?”  
Vlad offered his hand to her. “I’m Vlad.”  
She set the glass down and shook his hand.

”What’s your name?” Dmitry asked. When she didn’t respond, he added, “If you want papers, we’ll need it.”  
She looked down at her hands. “I don’t know.”  
Dmitry glanced at Vlad in disbelief.  
“You don’t know?” Vlad asked.  
“Well, I was given a first name- Anya. People... they found me, said I had amnesia. I can’t remember anything beyond ten years ago,” she said.  
“Nothing?” Dmitry asked.  
“Nothing but ‘Together in Paris’,” Anya replied.  
“Together in Paris?” Vlad repeated.  
“That’s why I need to get there, I think someone is waiting for me. I just, I have this feeling that I need to go to Paris,” she explained.  
“You said you were found ten years ago?” Dmitry asked. “Where?”  
She nodded. “Not far from here. At first, I moved around a lot, but I lost someone recently, and they left me a house here, so I came back.”  
Dmitry glanced at Vlad, which Anya noticed. She stood and looked between the two of them.  
“What?” she asked defensively.  
“Nothing, we just-“  
“Just what?” she challenged. “Listen, you don’t know what it’s like, not knowing who you really are! I’ve taken care of myself for ten years, without a clue, without a family. And now, I know that I need to meet someone in Paris. Does that sound so crazy to you?” she demanded.  
Dmitry took a couple of steps toward her, then placed his hand on her back, guiding her backstage.  
“Maybe we can help you, Anya. It just so happens that we’re going to Paris ourselves!”

...

Paulina opened the car door and slowly got inside. Looking up at the passenger seat, she saw someone texting rapidly.  
“Well?” they asked.  
“I was told to come to you if I ever heard a rumor about someone pretending to be a Romanov,” she announced.  
There was a moment of silence, then the car began to move. She was silent for the car ride, looking out the windows at the dark night. When the car came to a stop, someone opened the door and helped her out. Gripping her arm, they led her into a softly lit building. Guiding her down a hallway, they led her into a room and sat her down, then left. In front of her was a man staring out a window, his back facing her.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, then he turned and sat down at his desk.  
“So, you’ve heard the rumors about the Romanovs,” he said, folding his hands together.  
“Yes, I-“  
He cut her off by raising his hand.  
“Everyone has.” He stared at her. “Do you have the information you say you have?”  
“I do, I heard-“  
Once more he cut her off, standing.  
“We take rumors about a Romanov surviving very seriously here. If what you say is not true, there will be consequences.” His eyes bored into her. She swallowed hard.  
“They’re true,” she insisted.  
He stared at her for a moment, then once more sat at the desk.  
“Then by all means.” He motioned for her to start, then paused in the middle of his action. “And please, keep it brief as possible,” he added, then sat back in his chair, waiting for her to begin.

“Well, you know what they’ve been saying. Anastasia Romanov is alive,” she started. “And since Maria Feodorovna is offering a reward, people have been impersonating, Anastasia, right? So I know a couple guys who held auditions to find an Anastasia, and they’ve got an imposter now. But there’s no way she’s the real thing, I mean, she works at a bakery for God’s sake. Anya, that’s her name. And-“  
“-That’s enough,” he interrupted. He opened a drawer and pulled out a checkbook, writing out an amount for her, then placed it in front of her. Standing, he once more turned to look out the window. “You’re free to go.”  
Paulina stared at him in shock. “That’s it? You mean you’re not going to stop them?” she asked.  
“I’ve done my duty, and you’ve done yours,” he said. “For now, don’t worry about them. How they are dealt with is not your concern.”  
“But-“

He turned and looked at her, his eyes burning with anger, and her words faltered. He stared at her, then took a few slow steps forward until he was uncomfortably close to her. For a moment, she thought he might hit her, but he simply placed his finger under her chin and lifted it until she was staring straight into his eyes.  
“If we are to continue this partnership, you must follow instructions, do you understand?” he asked, his voice so soft she could barely hear it.  
She was trembling.  
She gave a nod, and he released his grip on her and took a step back.  
Scrambling, she picked up the check and the bag she had brought with her.  
“If anything new happens, bring it straight to me, Paulina,” he said. “You understand?”  
She nodded again. “Shouldn’t I know your name? You know mine,” she said.  
“Gleb Vaganov,” he told her. “Now go.”

She did not hesitate to obey. She exited the room, and once she was out, she was practically sprinting to the car that waited for her. Holding the check up to the dim light that came through the car windows, she wondered if the money was worth all this. But it didn’t matter now. It was too late to take it back.


	3. Chapter 3

“So! Are you ready to become Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanov?” Dmitry asked, holding the book out to her.

“I’m ready to find who I am,” she said, pushing the book back to him. “But I’m not lying to do it!”

“It’s not going to be a lie!” Dmitry assured her. “We’re going to help you remember.”

She crossed her arms. “I envy your confidence.”

“When Maria Feodorovna recognizes you as her granddaughter, Vlad and I will get a small reward for our endeavors and the two of you will be reunited. It’s a happy ending for everyone!” he exclaimed.

“And if she calls me a fake?” she questioned. “Then it will all just be an honest mistake. Whatever happens, it’ll get you to Paris, and us out of the country! Everybody wins,” he insisted. She took a deep breath and looked down at the floor. Giving a shrug, she looked at the two of them.

“How do you... become someone you’ve forgotten you ever were?” she asked. Vlad slipped a chair behind her and eased her into it. “First, take a deep breath,” he said, lowering himself into a squat next to her. Dmitry joined the two of them and opened the book, which contained fragments of all they could find about Anastasia Romanov and her life, gathered from past servants and news articles.

“Now, close your eyes, and imagine- a different life! A different world,” Vlad instructed. Anya obeyed and shut her eyes, gripping the sides of the chair.

“What do you see?” Vlad asked her. She sat for a moment, then opened her eyes and glowered at him. “Nothing. I don’t ‘ _see’_ anything!” she retorted.

“That’s why Vlad is here,” Dmitry said, flipping open the book. Vlad straightened his glasses and pointed to the first page.

“Starting off, basic history. You were born in a home birth, in a house not far from the ocean,” he told her, pointing at the article. She took the book and stared down at the article, her eyes widening. “Could it be?” she wondered aloud, her eyes scanning over the words.

“Yes, it’s so,” Vlad vowed. “You grew up in that house for all of your life. That is, until the assassination.”

She continued to stare at the page, not acknowledging any of his words.

“You entered to a family of five, three older sisters- Olga, Tatiana, and Maria. Your brother Alexei was born later,” Vlad disclosed.

Flipping the page, a new line of articles and written words were revealed. “See? You took horseback lessons at the age of three,” he added.

She gave a laugh. “Me? Riding a horse?” she asked.

“Yes!” Vlad answered.

“White horse, named Romeo,” Dmitry announced. He turned another page.

 

“Apparently, you had quite the temper, as well,” Vlad chuckled. “The house was known to tremble when you didn’t get what you wanted,” he said, the corners of his mouth lifting up.

“Charming child,” Dmitry teased, nudging Anya, who glared back at him.

“Undoubtedly,” Vlad said. “Of course, you always listened to your father. He was your favorite,”

Anya looked down at the pictures of Nicholas and her face softened, her fingers brushing softly over the photos.

“Just imagine what it was like- the life you always wanted. The past you left behind,” Dmitry voiced.

“You grew up with a family, Anya. Sisters and a brother. A mother and father who loved you,” Vlad said softly.

She shut her eyes and sighed, then opened them, looking between the two of them.

“If... I really am Anastasia, what now?” she asked them.

Vlad stood and reached out his hand for her to grab. She took it and he tugged her to her feet.

“What now is we have a very large amount of information to teach you in a short amount of time,” Vlad replied.

 

“Starting off,” he said, leading Anya onto the stage.

Pressing his hand to her back, he straightened her posture.

“Stand straight, walk with influence,” he said. “Float across the room.”

She took a few steps forward, walking with a strange wobble. “I feel pretty strange,” she admitted. “Am I floating?”

“Yeah, like a sinking boat!” Dmitry remarked. She turned to glare at him, but Vlad quickly rushed to her side.

“Don’t worry, Anya, we’ll practice,” he said, sending a scowl in Dmitry’s direction. “Now, back straight, shoulders rolled back, and roll your feet,” he said.

She obeyed, but it still looked unnatural. Dmitry shook his head and turned away.

She sighed and looked at Vlad. “I’m never going to get this right,” she insisted.

Vlad chuckled. “Trust me, if I can do it, you can. Some part of you knows this, just trust your instincts. Once again, Anya.”

She took a deep breath and rolled her shoulders back, straightening her spine, then took a few regal steps.

“That’s it!” Vlad applauded. “Now, follow me.”

He walked across the room effortlessly, almost gliding. Anya followed close behind, looking just as graceful.

“Wonderful!” Vlad exclaimed. “I knew you had it in you.”

“So she can walk. Big deal,” Dmitry said, rolling his eyes. “She has a lot more to learn.”

“Yes, she does, Dmitry!” Vlad replied. “And your attitude is not helping!”

Dmitry put up his hands in surrender. “I’m just being realistic.”

Vlad narrowed his eyes at him.

Anya strolled over and took the book from Dmitry’s hands. “No, Dmitry, you’re being a stubborn asshole,” she told him. Brushing a strand of hair out of her face, she opened the book again and skipped forward a few pages.

“Okay, that’s-“ Dmitry started.

“-So where do we begin?” Anya interrupted him, looking to Vlad.

Vlad chuckled and gave Dmitry a slap on the back. “She’s feisty, like you,” he said, then moved over to Anya.

“We’ll start with dinner traditions!” Vlad announced.

...

Anya returned home that night exhausted. Her feet ached and the lessons were jumbled together in her head. She was _so_ tired. They had worked for hours straight, drilling down bits and fragments into her brain. She changed into pajamas and got ready for bed. ‘ _No work tomorrow, thank god_ ,’ she thought to herself. Collapsing into bed, she snuggled under the covers until they were warm and let sleep take her.

 

The next morning, she awoke to sunlight, her body at ease and well-rested for the first time in months. She stretched and got out of bed, pulling out her clothes for the day and getting in the shower. As she scrubbed herself clean, she tried to recall all she had learned yesterday.

 _Posture. Polite smiles. Hide your emotions. Which spoon was for which dish_.

There was so much to remember and they had barely scratched the surface. She turned the water off and got out, drying herself off and getting dressed.

Wandering into the kitchen, she glanced at the clock on her oven. Nine o’clock. An hour before she was supposed to be back at the theater to start another day of trying to _re-become who she once had been_.

Time for breakfast.

Anya opened the fridge door and looked at the deserted shelves. _Right._ She’d meant to make a grocery trip yesterday, but that had gone out the window. Sighing, she shut the fridge door and decided that she would pick up breakfast for the three of them on the way there.

 

She caught the bus to a cafe a short walk from the abandoned theater Dmitry and Vlad had holed up in. As she walked in, she breathed in the scent of brewing coffee and cooking bacon and her stomach growled in response. After her eyes had scanned over the menu, she decided to order some breakfast sandwiches and three coffees.

She waited patiently in the line until she had reached the front, then ordered. Once she had finished, she turned to get out of the way but instead rammed into someone behind her. Before she could fall, they had caught her and steadied her stance. It was a tall man, with dark hair and dark eyes, and he gave a chuckle as he looked down at her.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed.

“Not to worry, it happens to the best of us,” he replied.

He smiled at her, and she was suddenly aware that he was still gripping her arms. She stepped out of his hold and returned his smile politely.

“Well, thank you for catching me,” she said, then hurriedly walked over to the counter to wait for her order. He followed her. Her stomach dropped.

“Are you alright?” he asked, staring at her. “You’re shaking.”

“Yes, I’m fine,” she told him. However, he was right; she was shaking. Ever since she had bumped into him, a feeling of uneasiness had come over her. He was perfectly friendly- why did she feel afraid? Her hands were clammy, and she tried desperately to inconspicuously wipe them on her shirt, but to no avail.

The man studied her face. “You look a bit run down. What do you say we eat together?” he asked.

Before she could respond, the servers called out her order. Relief washing over her, she went to pick it up. As she grabbed it, she turned to the man.

“I’m sorry, but I’ve got somewhere to be,” she explained. “Thank you, though.”

“Well, I’m here almost every morning at this time if you have a free day,” he responded.

As she exited, she made a note to herself to definitely _not_ return to that place. She took in the view around her and noticed several other restaurants around, deciding to try some of them out in the future instead.

Taking a deep breath, she let the air flow through her body and place her at ease. Rearranging the items in her hands, she made a beeline for the theater.

 

When she walked in, it was obvious that she was the only one who had gotten a good rest. Vlad was napping over his laptop, and Dmitry looked like a mess, his hair tousled and dark bags under his eyes. They both were sitting over dozens of newspaper clippings and scrawled on papers.

“I brought breakfast!” she called out, setting the food down. The two men were on their feet and over to the food immediately.

“You brought coffee,” sighed Dmitry gratefully.

“You’ve saved us all,” Vlad said to her.

Grabbing one of the sandwiches, she removed the protective wrapping and took a bite. The men were devouring their food like they’d never eaten before.

“This is heavenly,” Vlad reported, taking a seat.

She laughed, looking between them. “It’s like you’ve never eaten before” she said.

Dmitry shook his head, taking another bite, then swallowed and looked at her. “Well, you’re saving to get out of the country, you have to make sacrifices,” he said, then took a swig of coffee.

“Sacrifices being having to eat beef jerky and dried fruit for our meals for the last three weeks,” Vlad declared.

“And coffee,” Dmitry added.

Vlad held up his cup. “And coffee,” he agreed.

“Speaking of coffee, we ran out yesterday. Hence, our appearance,” Vlad told Anya.

“Well I’m glad I could be of service,” she offered.

The three of them quickly finished up breakfast, and then Vlad was immediately on his feet, diving Anya once again into the past.

 

The next few months flew by, the lessons getting continually harder, and Anya feeling more and more frustrated. The boys would teach her something new, but before she had time to practice, they’d quiz her on the basics again, drilling the fundamentals over and over again.

For instance, today she was itching to go over the dinner etiquette, but Dmitry was quizzing her on the family tree.

“Your mother was...?” Dmitry her.

“Alexandra,” she scowled.

“Father?” Dmitry asked.

“We’ve already went over this three times today,” she protested. “I know who my mother and father are!”

Dmitry sighed, looking annoyed. “Look, Vlad wants-“ he started.

“I don’t care what Vlad wants!” she spat. “You _know_ I know this, I’m tired of covering this over and over!”

Dmitry ignored her and looked down at the book. “Who is your best friend?” he probed.

Anya clenched her jaw, but slowly inhaled. “My best friend is my little brother Alexei,” she answered.

“Wrong!” he stated, snapping the book shut. “Your best friend is-“

“I know who my best friend is!” she argued.

He folded his arms, a smirk crossing his face.

“Someone has an attitude problem,” he simpered.

Anya narrowed her eyes. “I don’t like being contradicted,” she jeered.

“That makes two of us!” he snapped.

Vlad, finally hearing this argument, ran into the room and stepped between the two of them.

“Alright, everyone calm down,” he pleaded. “Let’s continue, shall we?” he said to Anya.

“Yeah, right,” Dmitry scoffed, handing Anya the book.

Anya’s jaw set and she chucked the book at him.

 

“That’s it! I hate you both, and I never want to see either of you again!” she yelled, storming off the stage.

“Anya, wait!” Vlad called, running after her.

“No!” she insisted, throwing her things into her bag. “I’m exhausted, I’m starving, and I can’t remember anything! I’m leaving!”

Slinging her bag over her shoulder and headed for the door.

“Anya, I’m sorry!” Dmitry shouted. “Wait, please!”

Anya stopped in her tracks, scowling, then turned around to look at him.

“Well?” she asked.

“Look, you were right. We haven’t been trusting you, and I’ve been an asshole. I’m sorry. We’ll give you time to practice. Just… don’t leave,” he pleaded.

Anya shut her eyes for a moment, then sighed and put down her bag.

“Fine, I’ll stay,” she decided. Both boys sighed in relief. “But first, we’re getting something to eat,” she insisted.

A smile grew on Dmitry’s face. “That’s fine with me,” he said, looking to Vlad, who chuckled and nodded.

“I think food is a good idea.”

 

The next few weeks flew by in a rush of lessons. Anya was quickly progressing, and it became clear to Vlad and Dmitry that with a little trust, she was a natural. Every step she took was regal and commanding. The names of her close family flew off her tongue without a second thought. The more she learned, the more details would come to her.

“Your distant cousin Vanya loved his vodka,” Vlad said, using a marker to point at the makeshift family tree that was scrawled on the whiteboard.

Anya gave a nod. “Right,” she replied.

“Sergei?” he asked, tapping Sergei’s name with the marker.

“Uhhh...” she started.

“Known for wearing stupid hats,” Dmitry lent Anya.

“If I’ve heard right, he’s gotten very fat,” Vlad added.

Anya’s face lit up. “Oh! And I remember his yellow cat!” she exclaimed.

As Anya picked up the book to study again, Vlad walked to Dmitry.

“Did we tell her that?” Vlad whispered.

Dmitry shrugged. “I... I don’t think so.”

“Well...” Vlad said, putting the marker down. “That wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened.”

 

The next day, Anya received a text from Vlad, detailing that she should wear clothes she could ‘ _move_ ’ in. When she arrived in yoga pants and a tank top, Vlad summoned her over.

“Today, we’ll focus on dancing,” he said, leading her out to the stage.

“Dancing?” Anya confirmed.

“Yes, Anya. Anastasia took years of dance. Luckily for us, I also took dance lessons when I was younger,” Vlad explained.

“Alright...” Anya set down her things on a chair and turned back to Vlad. “Where do we start?”

“The waltz,” Vlad said. “Dmitry will be your partner.”

Dmitry, who had been typing away on his laptop, looked up. “What?” he asked. “No!”

“Dmitry, for the love of god, dance with her,” Vlad demanded, turning on some music.

Dmitry sighed and shut his laptop, then walked over to the two of them. Vlad grabbed Dmitry’s hand, who defensively recoiled. Vlad pointedly stared at him until Dmitry relaxed. Vlad gently took Anya’s hand and placed it in Dmitry’s, who was standing as far away from her as he possibly could while holding her hand.

Vlad sighed, running his hand over his face.

“Dmitry,” he groaned. “Are you afraid Anya is going to attack you?”

“What?” Dmitry asked.

“You’re standing so far away, it’s like I’ve asked you to dance with a tiger.”

Dmitry cleared his throat and stepped closer. Vlad grabbed his shoulders and moved him until it looked normal.

“There. Now, Dmitry, lead. Three steps,” Vlad said, demonstrating.

Luckily, Anya danced just fine. Dmitry, however, was taking giant steps and wobbling his legs awkwardly. As he stepped, he accidentally stepped on Anya’s toe, who yelped and stopped.

Vlad shook his head and looked at Dmitry defeatedly, gesturing. “Just…” Vlad said, motioning to Dmitry helplessly. He shook his hand and pressed his hand to his face, sighing, and then looked up at Dmitry. Dmitry nodded, and Vlad gestured for them to dance again. This time, Dmitry wasn’t much better, and Anya aimed a kick at his shin.

“Hey!” Dmitry howled.

“Anya!” Vlad yelled, stepping in between them. “Can we not be civil?” he asked.

Anya sighed and took Dmitry’s hand again. Vlad stepped behind them to guide them until eventually they both relaxed and their dancing suddenly improved.

Vlad nodded his approval and stepped back. “Keep practicing.”

He retreated to the side of the stage, and flipped open a personal notebook he’d been keeping. As he did so, a picture fluttered to the ground, and as he picked it up, he realized it was one of the few pictures they’d been able to find of Alexandra. Taking a closer look, he was struck by _just_ how similar Anya looked to Alexandra.

He picked it up, then quickly flipped through the notebook to a picture of Nicholas. Holding the pictures close to each other, he realized that Anya was almost a perfect mesh of their features. She had a bit of both of them in her face.

_Could it be?_

Snapping himself out of his thoughts, he shook his head. Whether or not she was Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanov was not important now. What was important was that they had chosen Anya to be a part of their plan, and they had to teach her well.

He looked up and saw that the two of them were still dancing. Placing the picture back into its proper place in the book, he set it down and walked over to the two of them.

“Right, let’s move on to more difficult dances. Dmitry, you can go back to… well, whatever you were doing,” Vlad said. Dmitry nodded and dropped Anya’s hands, then went back to his laptop.

Vlad walked Anya through more dances, and it she quickly mastered them.

“Right, that’s it for today,” Vlad said blearily. She gave him a smile and went to gather her things in the back. Dmitry went with her, plugging in his outlet into one of the chargers backstage.

As Anya dropped a book, Dmitry bent down and grabbed it at the same time as she did. As their hands met, Anya felt a strange zing of connection flow through her veins, and looked up to find Dmitry intently looking at her. She met his gaze in confusion, a whirl of emotions forming inside of her.

The moment lasted for a few seconds before Vlad cleared his throat and the two broke apart. “See you tomorrow,” Dmitry said quickly, handing her the book. She nodded and took it from him, stuffing it into her bag and rushing out the door.

“Usually,” Vlad started, “People don’t take that long to hand back books.”

Dmitry shrugged. “So?”

Vlad gave him a pointed stare. “Don’t even let the thought cross your mind, Dmitry,” he said. He heard Dmitry scoff behind him, but he left the room before he could reply.

Dmitry stared out after Vlad, then took a deep breath and shook his head. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered.

“I know more than you!” Vlad called back.

Dmitry crumpled a loose paper and threw it in Vlad’s direction. It hit the wall two feet away. “Good job, Dmitry,” Vlad said, sitting down at the computer and starting to type. Dmitry crumpled another paper and threw it. This time, it hit Anya in the head, who had returned for her jacket. “Really?” she asked him. Vlad was trying so hard not to laugh it looked like he was breaking a rib. Anya grabbed her jacket and left.

“Sorry!” Dmitry yelled after her.

As soon as she had left, Vlad could not contain his laughter.

Dmitry looked at him, shaking his head. “Shut up,” he told Vlad.

 

The next morning, they reviewed everything they had learned.

“Horse’s na-“

“-Romeo,” Anya cut Dmitry off.

“Right!” Vlad said, crossing something off on a sheet.

“Your younger sister?” Vlad asked.

“Trick question, I was the youngest sister. The only one younger than me was Alexei, my little brother,” she answered.

Vlad crossed off another line.

“What was the name of the hospital you were born at?” Vlad questioned.

“Another trick, I was delivered at home,” she countered.

Yet another line was marked.

“Let’s see you dance,” Vlad said. Dmitry took her hand as Vlad turned on music. Anya danced perfectly. She was elegant and graceful, floating easily across the room.

“Alright, that’s enough!” Vlad called, turning off the music.

The two separated and joined him where he stood.

“Anya, you’re ready,” Vlad announced.

“Ready for what?” she asked.

Vlad stared at her. “To meet Maria Feodorovna.”

She gazed at him for a second, processing his words. “Wait, really?” she asked.

He chuckled. “Yes, Anya!”

She pulled him into a hug. “Thank you, Vlad,” she said.

She stepped away and looked at Dmitry.

“Good job, Anya,” he said. She smirked up at him and gave him a hug too. Dmitry hesitated for a moment, then hugged her back. Vlad pretended not to see this and opened the book, flipping through the pages. They pulled apart and Anya walked over to Vlad.

“What now?” she asked.

“Well, I’d still say that we should at least do a review to keep it fresh in you mind… perhaps once a week?” Vlad said. Anya nodded in response.

“Other than that, we just need the money for the papers and the tickets, and then we’ll be on our way,” Vlad said.

“Okay!” Anya responded. “I guess I’ll see you next week?” she asked.

The boys nodded, and she left. As soon as she was out the door, Vlad was staring at Dmitry.

“What?” Dmitry asked defensively.

“Don’t let it even cross your mind,” Vlad replied.

Outside, Anya opened up her notebook and flipped through it.

“Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanov, born June 18th…” she murmured, trailing off.

Suddenly, she looked up and wondered aloud,

“ _Could it be?”_

 


	4. Chapter 4

The vibrating cell phone made Gleb look up from his book. Setting it down, he stood and stretched, reaching his arms towards the ceiling, then headed for the phone.

“Hello?” he said, answering it. 

“Gleb,” Gorlinksy replied. 

“Sir,” Gleb said immediately, stiffening. 

“Hello, Gleb...And how are you enjoying your promotion?” Gorlinsky 

“It’s very nice, Sir,” Gleb said at once.

“Very nice?…” Gorlinsky drawled. 

“Of course,” Gleb responded. “The area is very amiable. The people are good to work with.”

“Of course,” Gorlinsky said softly. “Gleb, tell me, would you like to keep your current position?”

“Yes, Sir _ ,”  _ Gleb said.

“Then that girl must be dealt with. Do you understand?” Gorlinsky threatened.

“I do,” Gleb answered. 

“Good. What is the status on her?” Gorlinsky asked sternly.

Gleb looked at his watch. “Our little troublemaker should be here soon, sir,” he told him. 

“Very well,” Gorlinsky said.

As if on cue, there was a knock at the door.

“She’s here, Sir,” Gleb announced.

“You know what to do,” Gorlinsky said, ending the call.

Gleb straightened his shirt and answered the door. The girl had a bag over her head and had her hands tied behind her back, and a man stood behind her, containing her.

“You’re sure it’s her?” he asked, gripping her arm.

“She was leaving the theater at the same time as the other two. It’s her,” the man said. Gleb nodded, his eyes lingering on a bruise that was starting to form on the man’s face.

“Fuckin’ bitch put up a fight,” the main explained. “Give her hell for me.”

Gleb nodded again, and the man left. Gleb  led her into his personal office.

Turning on the light, he pulled the bag off of her head.

Underneath, she was both blindfolded and gagged.

“Jesus, what was the point of the bag,” he muttered, then untied her gag.

“Can you hear me?” he started.

The girl coughed roughly, then straightened. 

“Yes,” she replied.

Gleb turned toward a window and moved aside the curtain. Outside, the city’s lights were visible, lighting up the night. 

“You probably don’t remember the Romanovs,” Gleb started, his voice barely louder than a whisper. “At least, the fame they had before their death. Of course, they weren’t known as they are now, but the fame was still there, just as all people who possess large amounts of money gain fame. They owned several large companies, overworked their workers, underpaid them, ignored the little people. Good intentions went out the window, blinded by greed. I remember how  _ hated  _ they were.  _ How despised _ . Of course, their deaths made them martyrs. But still, it makes me wonder, why someone today could  _ want  _ to be a Romanov.

Especially in this good community we have here. Lovely town, full of nice people. I do suppose every town has its bad apples, though.”

Gleb paced around her. 

“Of course, you must have noticed that every single one of the Romanovs ended up dead. Every single one, except the harmless old grandmother. Tell me, do you believe that was a coincidence? Do you believe that the people who eliminated them simply vanished? Believe me, they exist just as presently as you and I do. And they are not happy to find out that someone is impersonating one of the Romanov daughters.”

Anya swallowed hard. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I thought you could tell  _ me,  _ friend,” he said, untying her blindfold. As the cloth fell to the floor, he was shocked to see that he recognized her.

“You?” he asked. “The shaking girl from the restaurant? All those months ago?”

The girl didn’t respond, her grey eyes following him warily. He laughed in disbelief at the coincidence. 

“I’d almost stopped looking for you around…” Gleb shook his head and cut himself off. Stepping behind her, he took out a pocket knife and cut the tie around her hands.

“Anya, am I right?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, rubbing the circulation back into her hands.

“Gleb Vaganov,” he replied. He held out his hand for her to shake. She ignored it.

Letting out a bitter chuckle, he dropped his head.

“I realize that we may not have made the best impression on you in these circumstances,” he admitted. “But I do hope we can change that. Cup of tea?” he asked, walking over to his desk.

“What are you going to do with me?” she replied, dismissing his question.

“Do with you?” he repeated. “Nothing. And why should I? You have a steady job, your own life built for yourself.” He motioned for her to take a seat across from him

“Yes, I’m very grateful,” she asserted, sitting down.

“I’m sure you are,” Gleb responded. “And that’s why I’m warning you to leave the fairytale behind.”

For the first time, she let emotion slip into her face as her brows furrowed. “I don’t understand,” she said.

“If you really were Anastasia Romanov, they would kill you without hesitation,” he explained. 

“Everyone wishes they were someone else, it’s a harmless fantasy-“

“No, it isn’t harmless, it’s dangerous,” he insisted, standing. “Do you remember what I told you, Anya? The Romanovs are gone, every last one of them.”

She stared at him as he walked out from his desk and stared out the window once again. “My father was among the men who ended them,” he said softly.

Anya stood. “I don’t want to hear this-“

“When he was told to fire,” he said, turning to meet her gaze, “he obeyed orders.” Slowly, she sunk back into the chair.

“Be very careful, Anya,” Gleb started. “These  _ rumors _ about Anastasia Romanov are dangerous, more than you know. I was there, that day all those years ago. No one escaped.”

Anya’s eyes followed him as he walked to the bookshelf. Lifting up a frame, he looked at a picture, then set it back down.

“My father and I were very close. He brought me almost everywhere. The day it happened, we waited for hours out in a car alongside their home. I saw the children…”

He turned back toward her and returned to his seat. 

“Even after all this time, I still remember her. The youngest daughter. Years my minor, but I felt connected to her, somehow. I remember her pride, even as she walked into her own home.”

He gazed at Anya, and she stared back at him.

“I remember my father, too. Hiding guns in a bag, telling me to stay in the car no matter what I heard. He obeyed his orders and I obeyed mine. I could hear everything, even with how far away I was. The gunshots, the screams. I remember the silence afterwards, how… simple the world seemed. How easy it was to end a life.” He paused, reflecting. “I saw the fire start too, the house going down in flames. Trust me, Anya. No one got out of that house alive that was not intended to.”

Once more, he stood and faced the window.

“Revolution is simple. You pull the trigger, end it. Sometimes I wonder if I could have been strong enough, if I had been the one who had been ordered to kill them…”

He stopped abruptly.

“Do you understand what I’m saying, Anya?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied. The room relaxed.

“Thank you for warning me,” she said, rising from the chair. 

He approached her, and held out his hand once more. This time she shook it, and he stared intensely into her eyes. Suddenly, he was hit with a memory- Anastasia Romanov entering her home, the pride she carried. He had to admit, the two of them looked very much alike. Almost  _ too alike. _

“I have to get home,” Anya said, interrupting his thoughts.

“Anya... as your new friend, I must warn you to be careful,” he said. She gave a nod, and headed towards him to get to the door. As she brushed past him, he gripped her arm.

“As Gleb Vaganov, son of Viktor Vaganov, I’m warning you to be very careful.”

Once more she nodded, and he dropped his grip.

Once she had left, he realized that he was trembling. His memories haunted him on repeat, every image his mind had captured of Anastasia Romanov replaying in his mind. But now, Anya’s likeness to her haunted him as well.

Stepping outside, he lit a cigarette and pressed it to his lips.

“Anya,” he murmured. 

 

…

 

“They know what we’re doing, Dmitry, they know where we are,” Anya was saying.

Dmitry listened intensely.

“Who did they bring you to again?” he asked.

“One of their men, his name was Gleb,” she replied hastily.

“And where was it exactly that they brought you?” he confirmed.

Anya hesitated. “I think… I think it was Gleb’s house,” she said.

Dmitry stared at her in disbelief. “His house? What are they, crazy? Now we know where one of their men lives!”

“Dmitry, you don’t understand, I think that’s the point! They’re not trying to be secretive, they want to scare us-“

Anya was interrupted by a holler as a group of men approached them. Dmitry cursed under his breath.

“Well, well, well…” one of them drawled. “If it isn’t Dmitry, king of the city,” one of them said.

“Don’t you miss your old partners?” another one asked, circling them.

“Thought you’d be well out of the country by now,” someone else chimed in.

Anya’s uneasiness was starting to grow, and she took a step back as the men started to close in on them.

One stepped up to Anya.

“I’ll be damned, Dmitry’s got himself a new girlfriend,” he said.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Dmitry retaliated.

“Right, it’s ‘Anastasia Romanov’ herself. Tell me, do you bow for him, too, or just kneel?” the other man asked. Dmitry took her hand and led her through them, shoving the men out of the way.

Another one stumbled up to her.  “Going to Paris,  _ princess? _ ” he slurred. 

Anya eyed the pole he carried. She smelled the whiskey on his breath. 

“Dmitry, I don’t like these people,” she said, dropping Dmitry’s hand and attempting to turn back. The men laughed at her words and blocked her way.

“What, are you  _ too good  _ for us, bitch?” one of them asked.

The man who held the pole took another step closer and pressed against her, brushing the hair out of her face. “If you don’t want her, Dmitry, I’ll take her!” he said. “Tell me, sweetheart, do you like to  _ dance? _ ” he asked.

“Leave her alone!” Dmitry said, pushing towards her. One of the men slugged him in the stomach. 

Anya took this as her cue. 

Quickly, she grabbed the man with the pole and kneed him between the legs. As he buckled over, she took the pole from him and hit one of the other men. He crumpled. Noticing that Dmitry was being held in a chokehold, she hit the man holding him across the back and he fell, Dmitry with him. She noticed that the others had started to scatter, and a smug smile crossed her face. 

Dmitry was kneeling on the ground, trying to even his breath.

“Men are such babies,” she said, walking toward him.

Dmitry laughed and winced, the movement hurting the blow he’d received to the stomach. 

“Where’d you learn that? You’re good,” Dmitry admitted, getting to his feet.

“I didn’t travel alone across the country without learning to defend myself,” she said, dropping the pole.

“C’mon, let’s get out of here before they come back,” Dmitry said.

They walked down the road, Anya following Dmitry. 

“Where are we going?” Anya asked.

“I know a place…” Dmitry said.

Anya smiled and continued to follow him without question. A few minutes later, they reached a park, empty and lovely, with a view of the city below. Dmitry sat down on top of a bench and Anya sat next to him.

“What is this place” she asked him.

“I used to come here when I was a kid,” Dmitry said. “It’s almost always empty. I remember being so... intimidated by the world sometimes. But I’d come here and look at the lights of the city and it looked so uncomplicated, and I’d feel better.”

Anya looked around and admired the view. Dmitry was right. Everything did seem very simple from up here.

“Can I ask you something?” Dmitry inquired.

Anya looked at him and tilted her head. “Sure.”

“You said that you traveled across the country alone… what did you mean by that?” Dmitry asked.

Anya looked out at the city as she responded. “I never really grew up with parents. I had someone- Sara, a mentor, but she was never… never exactly my mom. The first thing I can remember is moving. We were thousands of miles away from here. But every time I’d start to make a home, we’d move. Eventually, we ran out of money. Sara had to find a steady job. But she never let me stay with her. I had to keep moving around, that’s what she always said. She booked me hotels, bought me train tickets, told me where to go. But besides that, I was alone.”

Anya paused for a moment, a sad smile crossing over her face.

“That wasn’t the first time a group of men have tried to attack me,” she added. “You’ve had it easy.”

Dmitry chuckled, skimming his feet over the grass. “Not so easy.”

Anya looked over at him.

“C’mon, let’s go,” he said, standing and offering her his hand.

She took and and used it to pull herself to her feet. Once more, she followed Dmitry down into the city. The sun was setting, but there was a small farmer’s market that was buzzing and lively. The two of them walked through with some difficulty, dodging in between people. 

Eventually, they stopped at a stand full of fruit. Anya eyed the peaches, plump and juicy. 

“Too bad we’re saving for Paris, right?” Dmitry asked.

Anya nodded, sighing. Dmitry pulled her to the end, and grinned her. Sticking his hands in his pockets, he searched them.

“Granola bar?” he asked, offering it to her.

She took it with a smile, opening it.

“Do you work tomorrow?” he asked.

She shook her head, her mouth full.

“How tired are you?” he asked.

Anya chewed and swallowed, her hand hovering over her mouth.

“I’m wide awake,” she said.

“Great. How would you feel about taking a hike?” he asked.

She grinned. “I’d love to.”

“Great,” he said,” because we’re about to go on a little bit of a journey.”

 


End file.
